


Snooze Button

by pbandwhey



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Getting Together, M/M, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-18
Updated: 2018-04-18
Packaged: 2019-04-24 17:11:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14359911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pbandwhey/pseuds/pbandwhey
Summary: Carl pushes past him before answering, and Phil sighs again before closing the door. Carl bounces down on the second bed, making himself comfortable. “I’m bored, Phil.”“Not my problem.” Phil jerks his head at his own bed. “I was going to go to sleep.”





	Snooze Button

**Author's Note:**

> dicks out for unplanned fics written in a morning.

Phil’s stripped down to a t-shirt and boxers, teeth brushed, freshly showered, and he’s just about to turn the lamp off and slip under the scratchy hotel bedsheets when he hears a knock on the door.

He sighs. He’s more tired than he’d usually be at this time of night, even after a game – it’s, what, ten o’clock? – so he tries to wait it out, but whoever’s at the door just keeps knocking.

He pads over to the door and peeks through the eyehole, just in case it’s some random person with the wrong room. It isn’t. He sees Carl’s face through the glass, distorted and a little alien.

Phil opens the door. He’s more than familiar with Carl’s persistence when he wants to talk. His annoyance at being interrupted is somewhat tempered when he sees Carl’s bright, happy grin, how he’s bouncing a little on the balls of his feet.

“What’s up, Hags?”

Carl pushes past him before answering, and Phil sighs again before closing the door. Carl bounces down on the second bed, making himself comfortable. “I’m bored, Phil.”

“Not my problem.” Phil jerks his head at his own bed. “I was going to go to sleep.”

Carl ignores him. “Want to watch something? There’s probably something stupid on TV right now.”

“Not really,” Phil says. “Why didn’t you go to a bar, or whatever?”

Carl groans. “The only people going were the kids. I want to hang out with adults, Phil.”

“Poor you,” Phil says, dry. “I’m tired. Go see who else is around.” He really is tired, is the thing. And he does stupid things when he’s tired, like think about how Carl’s cute even when he’s annoying.

“But Phi-il,” Carl whines.

“But Ca-arl,” Phil mimics. “Go away.”

“Are you seriously trying to sleep? It’s early – Oh. Did I interrupt you jerking off or something?”

Jesus Christ. “For fuck’s sake, no, Hags, I wasn’t jerking off.” He climbs onto the bed – maybe if he’s actually lying down, Carl will go off to bother someone else.

“I’m just being polite, Phil. No need to be such a grouch.”

Phil huffs into the pillow. “A grouch. Jesus.”

He hears Carl moving around in the other bed, and then hears feet hitting the floor, the soft shuffling of socks on carpet, and there’s a sweet, brief flash of relief that Carl is finally leaving and going to his own room before Phil feels his own bed start to dip on the other side.

“Go. Away.”

A socked foot pokes him in the calf. “Why are you even trying to sleep right now? It’s like, ten.”

Phil turns his head, spares a glance at the alarm on the nightstand. “It’s ten-fourteen.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, ten- _fourteen,_ ” Carl says, and Phil can practically hear him rolling his eyes. “I’m sorry for not noticing the huge difference; God knows you need that extra fourteen minutes of beauty sleep.”

Phil reaches out and shoves at Carl’s shoulder, but he’s lying down so it’s too weak to actually get him off the bed. All it serves to do, really, is set Carl off laughing, high and quick and giggly. It’s a sharp contrast to how cool and composed he usually seems, and Phil will never admit to thinking it’s cute. At least, not out loud.

“Seriously, why are you sleeping? You can’t be tired. You didn’t even get a point tonight.”

Phil narrows his eyes at him. “Fuck off.”

“You’ve been lazy all season, really,” Carl continues, unaffected. “Didn’t even get invited to the All-Star Game, like, honestly—”

“Remind me, Hags, how many more points do I have than you?”

Carl sniffs. “I’m not the one sleeping at ten.”

“Ten-fourteen.”

“Well.” Hags glances at the clock, then back down at Phil. He’s grinning again, cheeks still flushed, presumably from his fit of laughter before. Phil stubbornly doesn’t note how Carl’s eyes are still shining, even in the dim light of the single lamp. “It’s ten-fifteen, now.”

And somehow, that’s what gets Phil to snap. But instead of doing the smart thing, which would be getting up and shoving Carl off of his bed and out the door, he grabs Carl’s arm and drags him down and over, manhandling Carl so that he’s lying next to him.

Carl doesn’t struggle, or protest, just stares at Phil once Phil’s finally finished shoving him into position. He looks far too delighted, and it’s annoying, really, how Phil can never seem to get the upper hand on him. His hair is messed up, tossed up and over the pillow, one lock draped over the bridge of his nose, and Phil’s an _idiot_ because he reaches out and brushes it back behind Carl’s ear instead of ignoring it and turning over so he isn’t staring at Carl’s stupid blue eyes and stupid pretty face.

“Doesn’t seem like you want me to leave, Phil.” Carl’s still grinning, teasing, but it’s tempered by something else, something softer, and Phil has to close his eyes because he can’t look at that for much longer without giving himself away.

“You can only stay if you stop talking.”

Carl hums, but he doesn’t reply, and he’s silent for a full, blissful minute before he pipes up again.

“I can’t sleep.”

Phil groans. “Fucking – drink some tea. Take a pill. Go work out, go to your room, I don’t _care._ ”

“Phi-il,” Carl singsongs, and Phil can feel him shuffling closer.

Phil cracks an eye open, and geez, Carl’s really close now; the tips of their noses _maybe_ an inch apart, if that, but Phil can’t look away. He keeps an appropriate look of disapproval on his face, though, despite how his pulse accelerates to that of a small rodent.

He sighs. “What do you want?”

Carl shrugs with the shoulder that isn’t pressed against the bed. “What do you think I want?” Which probably isn’t meant as a loaded question, but damnit, Phil’s only a mortal man, so he can’t help where his mind goes, and he knows for sure that his face is a matching shade of red to Carl’s now.

Unfortunately, Carl notices. His eyebrows shoot up, and his grin goes dirty. “Really?”

“You – shut up,” Phil says, closing his eyes again. Carl doesn’t let him off that easy, and he scoots even closer, close enough that their noses are actually touching now.

And, well.

Up until now, Phil hasn’t let himself even consider Carl as a legitimate option. He doesn’t let himself dwell on the possibility that he’d ever be interested.

But signs are signs, and gut feelings are gut feelings, and Carl’s being such an annoying little shit, like a kid on a playground teasing his crush, and Phil’s forced to think, now, that Carl might be pushing for something more than company to save him from boredom. Phil’s known for his shot, his _goal-scoring touch,_ as everyone likes to call it, and a lot of that is up to him trusting his instincts. A chance at a goal disappears if you dwell too long on it.

So he leans forward that extra inch and a half, tilts his head, kisses Carl, and he knows for sure that he’s gotten the figurative puck in the net when Carl makes a happy little noise and snuggles closer. His lips are even softer than Phil’s imagined – not that he thinks about it a lot, or anything.

It’s kind of counterintuitive to Phil’s initial goal of sleeping; Phil slips his tongue into Carl’s mouth, and Carl slings his leg over Phil’s, and that doesn’t make either of them relaxed.

Phil doesn’t know how much time passes, he just knows that Carl’s got his arm shoved up his shirt, fingers clutching uselessly against his shoulderblade. He wants more than anything to tug Carl’s shirt off, or maybe tug his pants down, but fucking a teammate in a hotel room probably isn’t the best idea, no matter how appealing it sounds right now – Carl’s making these soft pleased humming sounds, higher when Phil tugs a little at his hair, lower when Phil slips him some tongue.

But figures he should take it upon himself to slow things down, since Carl certainly isn’t showing any signs of stopping. He breaks away, and uses the hand he’s got tangled up at Carl’s scalp to keep him from pushing forward again.

Carl whines. “Why are you stopping?”

Phil could be articulate. He could tell Carl that this feels important, that he wants this to last, and to do that while still being teammates they need to be careful. Also, Geno’s next door, and there’s no way in hell he’d ever let it go if he heard them having sex through the thin hotel walls.

Instead, he takes the easy way out. “I still wanna sleep, Hags.”

Carl sighs, loud and dramatic, but he still tucks himself against Phil and presses his face into his neck. “Fine,” he says. “I’m staying, though.”

“That’s fine.” Phil decides to indulge himself just a little, and kisses his forehead before leaning over to turn off the lamp. “If you’re willing to be quiet for once, then I want you here.”

He feels Hags grin against his neck. “If you wanted to shut me up—”

“ _Goodnight,_ Hags.”

Carl laughs. “Goodnight, Phil.” He pauses. “Next time, though.”

Phil sighs, exasperated, but he doesn’t try to hide how fond he is this time. “Next time, I’ll tire you out enough that you won’t be such a brat.”

He feels Carl’s breath hitch. “You can’t – you can’t say that and just expect me to go to sleep—”

Phil ducks down and kisses him to shut him up. He gets the feeling he’ll have to use that trick pretty often.

He’s looking forward to it.

 

**Author's Note:**

> how many times in the future does geno fine carl for lockerroom PDA? many. how many times does carl make phil pay it? also many.


End file.
